


Figure Eight

by spacehopper



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 03:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13672896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: It’s Ignis’s job to brief Noct, to advise him, and to make sure he’s aware of the complexities of politics and war.But Noct can be infuriatingly distracting.





	Figure Eight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prosodiical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/gifts).



Ignis plucked the phone out of Noct’s hand and set it on the table with a thunk before turning back to the white board where he’d taped up a schematic of a new circular saw they were testing.

“Now if you’ll turn you attention to figure seven, you’ll see how this should improve on the tendency of the saw to jam by 50%.” Noct slumped in his chair, shirt rucked up to expose a sliver of pale skin. Ignis’s tongue caught on his teeth as Noct raised his arms over his head, revealing more precious inches of flesh. 

Then he continued. 

“This is expected to lead to a decreased mortality rate among the Lucian forces on the ground, as they are often overwhelmed by MTs in the instance of a jam.” 

Finishing his stretch, Noct reclined in his chair, legs splayed out before him, the column of his throat a tantalizing expanse displayed prominently as he tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. Ignis swallowed, and firmly dismissed what was almost certainly intentional taunting. He had no time for this today, and neither did Noct. 

“However,” he said, with a tap of the pointer, “the production cost for this version of the circular saw is 63% higher than the current model, and additionally requires materials which are hard to obtain within Insomnia.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and dared a glance at Noct. He’d changed tactics, leaning forward now with an expression of utmost attention directed below the length of the chalkboard and the diagram. 

“Because of this cost, we are instead investigating the possibly of dropping chocobos in boxes from air ships. If you’ll direct your attention to figure eight, you’ll notice that we predict a 49% increase in chaos among the Niflheim ranks, and a full 79% increase in troop morale due to the inherent adorableness of the chocobo.”

Noct looked up at Ignis through lidded eyes and licked his lips.

“The current name for the prototype is the Chocobox. Your thoughts, Noct?” Ignis exchanged the pointer in his hand for a pointed look at the prince.

“Yeah,” Noct said. “Sounds great.”

Ignis barely managed to resist slapping a palm to his forehead, instead pushing his glasses up his nose and sighing. 

“Hey, Ignis, I’m kind of tired.” Noct yawned, displaying his infuriatingly lovely throat again. “Could we maybe go over this on the couch?”

The couch. A dangerous opportunity, tucked away in the corner of the room, serving no purpose in an office, and yet somehow present regardless. He picked up the pointer again, fingers tightening on the slim length of wood. He closed his eyes. Took a breath. 

“Noct, there is no such thing as a Chocobox, and there is no figure eight. Which, if you were paying the slightest bit of attention, you would have noticed.” Noct had the grace to look slightly chastened. Or at least embarrassed that Ignis had caught him. “Now can we please continue?”

Noct groaned. Ignis decided to take that as agreement. 

“Given the value of human life, I believe the increased production costs f this new circular saw are worth it.” The chair creaked, and Ignis forged onward. “The people of Lucis are its greatest resource, after all.” The shuffle of footsteps on the carpet, and sultry breath on the back of his neck. He sucked in a breath. “Indeed, they—” Hands snaked around his waist, and a warm body pressed against his back. 

“I’d agree with that,” Noct said, voice pitched low, lips brushing skin as he spoke. “I value one Lucian in particular.” Ignis didn’t resist as Noct pulled him closer, one hand untucking his shirt and sliding up the bare skin of his stomach. 

“Noct.” He bit back a groan as Noct kissed along the side of his throat. “Now is not the time.”

“Why not?” He drew back, intertwining his fingers with Ignis’s and dragging him towards the couch. “I need a break.” 

“We’ve barely done anything.” Ignis was pulled along helplessly in his wake, giving only the briefest longing look towards the white board as Noct shoved him down onto the couch and straddled his legs. “We’ve only gotten through figure seven.” 

“I figure this is more interesting.” Noct pulled Ignis’s glasses off and set them on the end table. Then he buried his fingers in Ignis’s hair and dove in for a kiss. 

Ignis made one last, muffled attempt at a protest, but Noct’s sweet lips proved too much for even him. He’d been trained his entire life to serve Noct, and in this, as with everything, he was happy to do his duty. His hands clenched on Noct’s ass, fingers digging in and summoning a groan from Noct, who responded by pressing blunt nails against Ignis’s scalp and kissing him harder.

He tipped his head back, trying to get some air. Noct took it as invitation to run his tongue down Ignis’s windpipe and lower, teasing at the exposed skin of his chest. At one point, he would’ve found this unsanitary and unseemly, to let the prince lick and suck at his skin, in an office in the Citadel. But Noct had a way of overwhelming all protest, overwhelming everything, until all Ignis would go was shudder under his hands as he dragged him back in for a kiss, thumb running tenderly down his cheek. It had been the best mistake Ignis had ever made, giving into Noct’s advances. He would sacrifice anything, everything for these moments. 

The way Noct’s tongue dragged over his collarbone, followed by the slight nip of his teeth, was unbelievably distracting, as Noct had known it would be. So distracting, in fact, that Ignis almost missed the sound of the door opening, and the familiar tap of a cane on the wooden floor. 

Ignis was rarely lost for words. But when facing a man with hands on the ass of that man’s son, few could manage eloquence, and Ignis was not among them. 

“Hey, why’re you stopping?” Noct said, nuzzling his throat as Ignis tried to find somewhere, anywhere safe to put his hands. Noct clearly hadn’t noticed. Perhaps Regis would have mercy on them, and leave before he did. Ignis locked eyes with his king and hoped that telepathy was among the powers granted to the Lucian kings, and that in this, the king would grant them clemency. And indeed, he nodded at Ignis, and turned to leave. Ignis sighed in relief, hand coming to rest lightly on Noct’s back. 

But Noct had noticed. He twisted around, and for the briefest moment, Ignis wished Prompto were here, to capture the ignominy of his expression. Then Noct was pushing against his chest and tumbling to the floor, hitting his head hard on the end table.

“Shit,” he said through gritted teeth. From the way he was prodding at the spot, it seemed he was bruised but otherwise uninjured. Which was just as well, since Ignis needed to remove himself from this predicament posthaste. He stood, offered Noct a hand, tugged him to his feet, and just as immediately dropped his hand as though it scalded.

“Ignis,” the king said, small smile tugging at his lips. Something eased inside Ignis. At least His Majesty did not seem upset, even if he were surprised. “How is the briefing going?

Ah. No mercy for him today.

“I was demonstrating the efficacy of the Chocobox.” Refuge might still be fund in audacity, after all.

“Figure eight,” Noct added helpfully. He’d somehow schooled his face into the very picture of studious banality. “Right, Specs?” Regis looked at the drawing on the board. Raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed,” Ignis managed to choke out.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Regis turned away from them, and Ignis breathed a sigh of relief. But as his hand rested on the doorknob, he turned back to them. There was something almost wicked in that smile. “I do expect a full report on figure eight at a later time. Dinner, perhaps?”

“Right, yeah,” Noct said. “Sounds good.”

“You will be joining us, won’t you, Ignis.” A command, not a request.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And perhaps next time, lock the door?”

“Indeed,” Ignis said, shooting Noct a look. He’d somehow reacquired his phone, and was currently tapping out a message. 

Finally, the king departed, and Ignis slumped back onto the couch.

“To conclude, I recommend we put it into production immediately.” 

“Hell yeah, we will. Your room or mine?” Noct held out a hand, which Ignis gladly took. 

“I think mine. After all, it wouldn’t do to be interrupted during a demonstration of figure eight.”


End file.
